


Supposed to Be This Way

by writerllofllworlds



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Character Death, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Gen, Hurt, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Marvel Universe, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Pepper Potts, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Sadness, Steve Rogers Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Loves Peter Parker, hard angst, mama bear pepper, so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-29 20:10:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerllofllworlds/pseuds/writerllofllworlds
Summary: It wasn't a start.In fact, it was an end.But that was alright. It was supposed to be this way.Loss was not mended because of an idiot’s hope.Well, maybe just this once.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 50
Kudos: 352





	Supposed to Be This Way

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for this. 
> 
> Except that I'm not. 
> 
> This is not the happiest fic you'll find. Nor is it the shortest. I started this last week and it is 17,000 words long. That is by far the fastest I have ever written something so long. Geez, Louise. The things I do for you guys. 
> 
> I kid, I kid, I wrote this for myself. 
> 
> I have a feeling some of you will want a second chapter after this, or perhaps an epilogue of sorts. If, AFTER FINISHING IT, you feel so inclined, let me know in the comments. I'm still undecided and I'm sure you lovely people could sway my thinking. 
> 
> As always, Marvel owns the characters and my soul. I love comments more than my own life and I love writing things for you! Sorry about the weird formatting. My computer hates me. 
> 
> Stay awesome y'all, and remember it's America's Ass.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Something in Peter stirred as the silence stretched on. The alien planet (though, in the quickly killed childishness of his nature, he thought that it was funny because _he_ was actually the alien here) was cold and warm at the same time, sending shivers down his spine but also making him break out in a feverish sweat. He shook like he had when he first got his powers, fingers trembling as he stared at them.

Something was wrong.

He helped Mister Stark off the ground, both unsteady on their feet. His mentor muttered a quick “Thanks” as Peter patted his back, making sure that his grip was enough to keep the man upright.

The bug lady’s strained tone cut through the heavy silence like a knife. “Something is happening.”

And then she was gone.

Peter’s heart stopped in his chest. Beside him, Mister Stark gasped, wide eyes staring at the space that the alien had been.

Dust. Dust in the wind. That was what she had become.

Peter’s breathing picked up as the jacked green guy chipped away like paper, his last words a concerned, “Quill?” before he too, disappeared.

This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t happening. But Peter’s insides were churning with worry – with terror. There was an inevitable tragedy following Peter like a shadow and he couldn’t stop it. Dread crawled up from his toes, leaked from his brain, and it met in his chest, swallowing his heart like a disease.

They lost.

Starlord turned, tears glistening in his eyes. Mister Stark took a step forward, voice ever calm. “Steady, Quill.”

Even as the hero said the words, Quill too faded into nothing.

Peter was shaking. He saved cats from trees, he stopped metal-winged villains from messing with alien technology. He didn’t deal with intergalactic grapes who were set on destroying half the population – who _succeeded_ in destroying half the population. Because Thanos had won. He had done it.

They.

Lost.

What had he been thinking? What kind of idiot was he? Now he was going to die on this planet, disappear like the others. He could feel it. His Spidey-sense wasn’t _tingling_; there was an earthquake inside himself that was bringing his carefully constructed walls down, tornadoes wrecking his naïve optimism like they were building blocks and he was helpless.

Peter could do nothing to stop it.

He was sixteen years old. He was a kid.

Just a kid.

“Tony.” Doctor Strange’s voice was steady, sure, and a little bit sad. If Peter hadn’t been freaking out, he would have noted it was the same voice Mister Stark used when talking about Captain America. “There was no other way.”

Final. Doc knew the outcome. He knew the death that Peter was about to face, and it didn’t matter. This was how they won.

Tony held the wizard’s eyes for several agonizingly long seconds. Doctor Strange passed.

This was the sacrifice.

Peter couldn’t stop the tears that clouded his vision. Everything was dialed to eleven. His fingers buzzed with fear and his heart was beating out of his chest.

Inevitable.

This was inevitable.

Peter knew that he was going to die. He was a hero, for God’s sake. He faced death almost every day. His parents, his uncle, all the people he couldn’t save.

He thought he had more time.

“Kid.”

Wait.

“Kid, Peter. Peter, look at me.”

Wait.

“Kiddo? I _need_ you to look at me.”

No, this wasn’t the deal.

Peter’s eyes glazed, continued to stare at his shaking fingers. His hands that were definitely not the ash that Peter expected them to become. No flaking, no shattering away into nothing. Just his hands.

“Pete?”

No. please, God, _no_.

He looked up.

Tony swallowed, smile quivering and sad but a smile all the same and Peter was going to be sick.

“Wait,” Peter shook his head, even as he stumbled to catch Tony as his legs disappeared. He lowered his mentor to the ground, vomit churning in his stomach, threatening to surface as fear raged like the ocean within him. “Wait, no. Please, please don’t.”

_I can’t lose another one. Please don’t take another one. _

“Hey, hey,” Mister Stark reached up, steady hand just as steady as his voice as he ran his fingers through Peter’s disheveled curls. “Hey, calm down. It’s okay.”

He wanted to snap at how ridiculous the request was, how not okay any of this was. But words choked in his throat. His mouth was dry.

“You’re going to be okay, yeah? You hear me?” Tony coughed. Peter shook his head again, ignoring the glaringly obvious ash that his mentor’s body was becoming. “I trust you, Peter.”

“I can’t do this without you. I’m nothing without – I don’t know how – I’m sorry, Mister Stark.” He was sobbing now, shoulders shaking and clawing at Tony’s shoulders like it would help, like his strength alone could stop death.

His strength had never been enough. It never would be.

“I’m _sorry_.”

“Hey,” Tony’s fingers disappeared right as he traced the boy’s cheek. “Listen. Listen, hey, kid.”

Peter met his brown eyes. He had never realized how similar they were.

“Peter, you’re like a – you’re _my_ kid, you understand? Yeah? You understand?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Don’t go, please.”

“Peter,” Tony’s eyes had never been more serious, like the information he was trying to impart was more important than anything else he had ever said in his entire life. “Peter, I lo-,”

He was gone.

Peter’s hands hit the hard ground with a dull _thud_.

“Tony?”

Nothing. Nothing but silence and terror and the weight of failure slowly setting into Peter’s being like it had already made itself at home. And perhaps it had. Just like it had visited when his parent’s bodies were lowered into their graves, when Ben’s eyes had focused on the night sky and stayed there, when that building had come toppling down on top of his shoulders. Failure and loss were his uninvited roommates who had decided to stay, live with him, and take over his heart like invaders in their enemy’s castle.

_D-Dad?_

Seized by a crazed horror, he threw himself after the ashes floating in the wind. He whined, trying to catch the pieces, the fucking pieces, of his _person_ – his mentor. He couldn’t lose him! He had lost everything else, please, no!

He tripped, scraping his elbows and knees as he hit the ground. A scream of pain and anger and desperation escaped his lips as he struggled back up. “No! _NO_! _TONY_!”

“Stop.” A commanding voice was followed by a firm pair of hands.

“Let me go,” Peter didn’t care who it was. He didn’t give a shit who was holding him back. He had to save Tony. He had to save Tony. What was he good for if he couldn’t at least save Tony?! “Let me go!”

“You are wasting your time!” the blue robot woman snapped. “He is gone.”

He was going to be sick.

“No.” Peter rasped, tears dripping down his face, burning against his skin. A reminder of his weakness. He covered his mouth with his shaking hands, trying desperately to get his sobs under control.

“He did it.”

Peter threw up.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Peter didn’t know how to fly the spaceship. Peter didn’t really know much of anything besides the fact that he was tired, hungry, and had cried enough to consider himself dehydrated.

Nebula was cool. They didn’t talk much, and when they had finished fixing some pesky wires, she had taken over and got them off Titan. She avoided him after that.

Peter didn’t blame her. What kind of kick butt alien assassin wants to spend their time hanging out with a pathetic, sobbing little kid?

She made sure he ate though, which was considerate of her. Peter’s enhanced metabolism didn’t even really acknowledge the rations she gave him, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her that. They ate in silence, like they did most other things, and while Peter wanted to ask a million questions, his grief trampled his curiosity.

Her eyes told stories. He wondered how many people she had lost.

She was a stranger. He didn’t know anything about her. She could kill him any time she wanted.

But Peter had never been good at sitting by while someone was hurting.

So, he taught Nebula how to play paper football. It was a stupid game, so simple and juvenile, but Tony had taught it to him while they were waiting for Friday to reboot once. He found a random piece of metal, kind of triangle shaped, and invited for her to sit with him.

“What is this?” she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“It’s a game.” When her expression didn’t change, he added, “For fun.”

He showed her how to configure her hands. The first time he flicked the metal, she jerked, pulling her hands up into a fighting position. “Whoa, whoa, hey, you don’t have to do that. Because – because you’re just holding your hands there. It’s the goal. Okay?”

She didn’t say anything, but he adjusted his fingers like he’d shown her, and she returned the serve. It landed outside his circle, but Peter smiled gently. “That was close.”

They exchanged rounds, Peter landing a shot and then missing (intentionally). Nebula scored her seventh time trying. “That’s a goal. We are now one a piece.”

“I would like to try again.” She said seriously. Peter almost laughed.

They continued to play until they were tied. “Hey, look at that! We’re tied. Can you feel the tension?”

Nebula wasn’t much for humor, but Peter could almost see her hard edges begin to soften. It was a start.

Peter flicked the metal again and missed. “Oof. Now you have a shot to win.”

She readied herself, lowering her shoulders and gaging her trajectory. With extreme seriousness, she let out a breath and fired.

“Score!” Peter clapped. “You won. Good game, Nebula.”

He extended a hand.

She eyed it and then slowly offered her own.

It was a start.

“Day twenty-one. No. twenty-two.” Peter swallowed, throat scratchy, as he stared into the white eyes of his Spiderman mask. “You know, if I wasn’t terrified, staring into the literal void of space and all, I’d say it was beautiful. All of my wounds are healed, no infections and all that; thanks to Papa Smurf and all. Oh, you’d love her, Mister Stark. Doesn’t get sarcasm, but she’s very practical. Only slightly sadistic. Of course, the wounds probably wouldn’t have killed me anyway. The starvation, on the other hand…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. His fingers hadn’t stopped shaking since Titan. “So, the fuel cells are cracked. Apparently, they got damaged in battle. We figured out a way to reverse the ion charge and buy about forty-eight more hours. Well, it was mostly Nebula. I didn’t really do much.”

Peter looked down. Part of him was glad Tony wasn’t here. He wasn’t sure he could watch his father figure slowly decay into nothing, starve to death, and suffocate from lack of oxygen. Part of him was glad Tony had died on Titan.

Died.

The other part of him hated that he was glad.

“Um, oxygen will run out tomorrow morning.” He licked his lips. The bleeding had stopped; that was nice. “And then that’ll be it. Man, what I wouldn’t give for a hyperspace jump right now. Where’s Han Solo when you need him, huh, Mister Stark?”

Silence. Not that Peter was expecting anything else. Silence overtook most of his time now. It and failure had quickly become best friends. “It looks like... Well, you know what it looks like.”

He wondered if Nebula thought he was insane, talking to himself like this. It seemed like something an insane person would do.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Don't feel bad about this. Not that you can really feel bad about it, seeing as you’re dead and all, but, um…”

Tears made his nose twitch and he wiped them away. “I was really excited for everything, Mister Stark. College, working for Stark Industries, being an Avenger. Guess I won’t… I know now.”

It was odd for someone like Peter, who could talk a mile a minute, to be at such a loss for words. Yet here he was, sitting in the cockpit of a spaceship, millions of light years from his home, with nothing but his mask and his mind for company. Words seemed meaningless after all that had happened. What was he supposed to say? ‘Hey, Mister Stark, thanks for making me feel like I had a father again, it was nice. I hate myself, but you always made me feel like I didn’t have to. You saved me from killing myself before I even knew you. You were the person who gave me the courage to tell May and Ben about Skip. You saved my life when I was at the Stark Expo and you didn’t even know it. You …’

“… are family.” He whispered. “You’re my family.”

The statement hung there, steady and true.

“I love you.”

That one was true too.

“Thank you for everything.”

Peter swallowed, wiping away more tears. “I should probably lie down, rest my eyes and all that. Please know, _please_,” he choked, looking away for a moment, into space. Literally. The colors outside the glass were spectacular, yet he understood how Tony had nightmares about them for so long. It was endless. There was no stop to the bright lights. They went on forever around him, trapping him in an interminable cage of light and void. Emotions battled in his stomach, but he refused to dispel the precious rations.

“Please know that, whenever I drift off, I’ll think about that one movie night. You remember? _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ and you, me, Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey all on one couch, squished together like a proper family… happy thoughts. I’m trying to – I want to think of happy things. I’m – yeah…”

Peter always thought he would have thousands of things to say when he sat down to record these messages, but he never did. He always came up empty handed and tongue tied. His eyelids fluttered with exhaustion.

“I’m sorry.”

That one was a constant. It always slipped out of his trembling lips. He knew Tony would be so mad if he knew to the extant how much Peter blamed himself. How many times he had sat in that exact spot and clawed at his own skin because of his guilt. It wasn’t just a feeling; it had become a physical weight that settled onto his chest and made it impossible to breathe.

“I’m so _sorry_, Mister Stark.”

All the memos ended the same. Peter whispered, “Stop recording, Karen,” and the AI shut off to preserve battery. He swallowed down the shame and the tears, letting the precious breath leave him slowly. He laid down on his side, curled around his mask, and closed his eyes.

Light.

The ship touched down right outside the Avengers compound. Nebula helped Peter to his feet, her hand a grounding presence as they slowly made their way to the landing bay. He cleared his throat and patted the hand she had around his shoulder. “Thank you.”

She stared at him for a moment like he had grown a second head. Then she nodded.

Peter hobbled down the cargo bay strip with Nebula by his side. He looked up at the sound of running footsteps and was passed into the arms of the one and only Steve Rogers. With a understanding glance exchanged with his alien friends, her arms were replaced by the Captain’s, and Peter looked up into his blue eyes and saw everything.

They didn’t make it two steps before Peter grabbed the man’s shoulder and croaked, “I lost him.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed with grief.

“I lost Tony.”

The whispered confession was followed by a broken sob, and Peter looked over just in time to see Pepper Potts stumble into the Black Widow’s arms, body shaking with her overwhelming cries. Guilt anew took hold of him, and he turned his face into the Captain’s shirt so that the others couldn’t see his tears.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Peter wasn’t even really listening to the other Avengers talk. He was malnourished, depressed, and alone. He didn’t care where Thanos was. He didn’t care that he had nearly died or that he needed a wheelchair to get around. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to his apartment and the Tower and May and Tony but he couldn’t and –

And nothing.

Peter’s eyes drifted to Thor (whoa, short hair) sitting off in the corner. “What’s wrong with him?”

His voice was hoarse and painful to his own ears. The others all turned to look at him. It was the first time he’d spoken since he’d arrived.

“He’s pissed.” Peter blinked, gaze finding the raccoon on the floor. “He thinks he failed. Which of course, he did, but there’s a lot of that goin’ around, ain’t there?”

The boy’s brows furrowed. “I totally that you were a Build-A-Bear.” 

“Maybe I am.” The raccoon shrugged.

Peter shook his head.

“We've been hunting Thanos for three weeks now.” Steve sighed heavily. “Deep space scans, and satellites, and we got nothing. Peter,” the kid looked up. “You fought him.”

“What?” Peter wheezed. “Who told you that? I didn’t fight him.”

His good friend silence joined the party and sat that for a moment before he continued. “I didn’t _fight_ Thanos. He wiped my ass with a planet while a Harry Potter knockoff gave away the time stone. That’s what happened. There was no fight.”

“Did he give you any clues? Any coordinates? Anything?” Steve urged quietly, as if the gentle tone would compel Peter to give information he clearly didn’t have.

“You honestly think that Thanos, the mad titan with a purple ballsack for a face, told me where he likes to relax after destroying half a planet’s population?”

“Peter-,”

“You know, Mister Stark saw this coming.” Anger boiled up in him. The stories he’d been told, the conversations that Tony had avoided about this man. The confessions of Rhodey and Pepper and Happy, Peter’s own witnessing to the effect Steve’s betrayal had on his mentor. It all mixed in him, pairing up with his guilt and pain like an odd three-person waltz except they all had left feet. “A few years ago, remember? Hmm? He didn’t want to believe it. Always told me he was dreaming. But he knew.”

Steve sighed, closing his eyes against the hurtful statement. “Peter, I’m going to need you to focus.”

“And he needed _you_.” Peter sat up straighter in his wheelchair, seething. All the energy he didn’t have to spare reared in him like a lion, his grief turning to a sizzling fury that calmed his senses and grounded him. Dangerous. If he had been in peak condition, he wouldn’t have wasted a second in throwing himself at the war hero. “As in past tense, Captain. That trumps what you need. It’s too late, Rogers.”

Peter had only felt this kind of anger once before – while staring into the eyes of the man who had murdered his uncle. The rage forced him up from his chair. “You know what I need? A shower. And I remember Mister Stark telling me that –.”

“Peter, kid, sit back down.” Rhodey tried to force him back into the wheelchair.

“That his dream was why we needed a suit of armor around the world? Remember that? Cause he did!” Peter heaved, clutching the table for support. “Whether it impacted your precious freedoms or not. That’s what we needed.”

“Well, that didn’t work out, did it?” there was pain in his eyes, but that only fueled the flame. He didn’t have any right to be hurt. He did this. This was his fault.

_This is your fault, Peter._

Wrong line to cross, Rogers. “Tony said that we would lose. You said – you said, ‘We’ll do that together too.’ Guess the fuck what, oh great Captain Rogers? We lost.”

Peter stepped forward. “We lost, Rogers. And you weren’t there. You weren’t there and he needed you. He needed you and you – you -,”

His breaths were coming to fast. His brain couldn’t keep up.

“Peter, buddy, you’ve made your point. Sit down.” Rhodey was on his side, he knew that, but he was still so angry and distraught and sad and he couldn’t stop the tsunami of emotions crashing through him.

“No, no, here’s my point.” Peter spat. He pushed passed his adopted uncle and got right up in the super soldier’s face. “I’ve got nothing for you, Rogers. No coordinates no clues, no options, no strategies. Zero, zip, nada. No trust.”

He poked his chest hard.

“Liar.”

He was shaking too much. “He trusted you. Even after what you did, even after you left him in Siberia, he still hoped you’d come back and be a team again! A family! He trusted you and you lied! You LIED!”

"Peter, kid, you need to calm down,” That was the Black Widow’s voice, but that didn’t help anything.

“If you had been there, he would be alive! It’s your fault!” Peter coughed, and suddenly he was extremely aware of the tears cascading down his cheeks. He didn’t even know Steve Rogers. He had met him all of one time, had fought him, knew he was a good man, but none of that seemed to matter now. None of that truth seemed to measure up to the fact that the Avengers were supposed to be a team that saved the world and helped people. The Avengers kept people from dying. That was their gig. Tony would be alive if they had been a real team, a real family. His Dad would be here if Steve Rogers hadn’t _lied_. Then why… “Give him back! Give him back to me! GIVE HIM _BACK_!”

But he was falling, crumbling to the floor like a sack of flour. Cries of concern echoed in the room and all Peter could do was sob and whimper, “My fault. It’s all my fault.”

The noise was too much and his head hurt.

“I’m _sorry_.”

Silence, his old friend, welcomed him as they walked into darkness.

He awoke to the med-bay ceiling. _Ah, hello good sir_, he thought sarcastically. The number of times he had been in here after patrols or screw-ups in the lab were innumerable. He tried to remember the many breathing techniques that Mister Stark had taught him to use whenever he was anxious, but in the face of what had happened, what he’d _lost_, they didn’t appear to be working.

Shocker.

The heart monitor he was attached to began to beep faster. The small part of him that wasn’t slowly dissolving into a panic attach knew that the static sound was going to alert someone he was in distress and Peter of two days ago would have tried everything to turn it off so he didn’t bother anyone. But he didn’t care now. He wanted May. He wanted someone to hold him and tell him that he was going to be okay. That he was going to survive this, that this loss, this overwhelming death (fifty percent of all living things oh my god), that he would be able to smile again. He wanted Tony. He wanted someone to ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead and create stupid things in the lab just to make him smile. That was going to tell him he was better, that he was good, that it wasn’t his fault. But May was dead. May was killed when a car whose driver had disappeared because of the Snap drove straight into a building. Tony was dead. Tony was killed by a crazy, purple ass alien who could throw moons at people and warp reality.

It was his fault.

God, it was all his fault.

Maybe if he had been good enough, Tony would still be alive. Maybe if he had been faster or smarter or stronger, he could have gotten that damn gauntlet and he could’ve snapped and made Thanos turn into dust.

Peter whined, hitting his fists against the white blanket until he heard something crack. His vision blurred with tears and lack of oxygen. The heart monitor beeped frantically, ever louder and speeding up. He gripped his hair so tightly he tore some from his scalp in his craze. Were panic attacks supposed to hurt so much?

He didn’t want to care anymore. This was always how he ended up: sobbing, panicked, and losing everyone. His parents, his uncle, Liz, now… everyone. It wasn’t just Tony. May, Ned, MJ… they were all gone.

And he was left here.

_It should have been me. _

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

No one came into his hospital room.

Nebula was waiting outside his door when he detached himself from the IV’s and forced himself out of the secluded room. She was sitting on the floor, turning a gun over in her hands and messing with various mechanisms. She jumped to her feet as the door opened and he stepped out.

Her face was so robotic, but he thought he say concern there. “You are awake.”

Peter’s lips tilted up in a dry smirk. “Unfortunately.”

She narrowed her eyes. She was getting used to his sarcasm. Slowly, but surely. “We killed Thanos.”

Peter’s heart dropped. “What?”

“Your Asgardian beheaded him.” She continued, eyes looking to the side.

She was dodging something. Nebula didn’t beat around the bush. “Yes?”

“The stones were destroyed. We cannot get him back.”

(She didn’t apologize. He wondered if that was just a him thing – to apologize for everything, to feel like everything was his fault.)

Peter didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

He walked to his bedroom. She followed, catching his arm whenever he looked like he would fall. He asked her to wait outside while he changed. Looking around his room, he was hit by emotions he hadn’t been ready for, though he was starting to wonder if they ever left or just sat, waiting for the perfect moment to crush his heart again. There was an old MIT sweatshirt laying across his desk chair; he didn’t touch it. A used coffee mug was on his dresser (Peter didn’t drink coffee. He didn’t touch that one either) and empty water bottles littered his floor from all the times he’d run in after training and hadn’t had to decency to throw them away. Pushing away how “homie” it all felt, how the weight of his loneliness was squeezing his chest, he walked over to grab a change of clothes.

He walked back out to Nebula in one of his science shirts and jeans.

She looked him over thoughtfully. He didn’t offer up any conversation.

It was odd, how he had attached himself so quickly to her. Would she suddenly die too?

“Do you want to go outside with me?” his soft voice was strained, but he didn’t really care.

“I’m not sure being out in the cold would help you heal.” She replied evenly.

Well, that was thoughtful. Peter shrugged. He was going out onto the lawn whether she followed or not. But it was always nicer to have company. He turned and began to walk down the familiar hallways.

She followed.

A small smile quirked at the edges of his lips as the large glass windows came into view. He raced towards them as much as his malnourished body would allow and threw open the doors. The cold air nipped at his nose and ears, wove itself under his clothing and seeped into his bones. He loved it. The chill reminded him he was human, he was alive. It curled around his soul and settled there as if it belonged. Perhaps it did.

He closed his eyes and twirled, probably looking very childish. A laugh bubbled up from him, unbidden but not unwelcome. It wasn’t his usual laugh. It was quiet and subdued and very sad, but it was a start.

It was a _start_.

Nothing was okay. Nothing may ever be okay again, but if Tony Stark could see Peter Parker’s smile on that frozen morning, he would have said that his smile hadn’t changed.

Pepper was throwing things.

Peter had been out of the medbay for two weeks and his only real contact had been with Nebula and Rhodey. He didn’t necessarily avoid the others, but he had a feeling they kept their distance. So when he walked downstairs to get water at two in the morning, he jumped when he saw Miss Potts.

She looked awful. The bags under her eyes were scarily dark and her eyes were void. She was surrounded by broken china and glass. There was a bright red stain on her sleeve.

“Pepper?” Peter asked quietly, like he was talking to a cornered animal. “It’s me. It’s Peter. Peter Parker? Are you okay?”

She didn’t respond for a moment. Then she seized the vase off the counter and chucked it at Peter’s head.

He jumped out of the way, raising a quick thanks to his Spidey-sense before dodging a mug and a plate. “Pepper! Pepper, it’s me!”

She screamed, but it sounded more like a sob, and threw a wine glass. It hit his shoulder while he was turning and sliced through his skin. She froze, blue eyes wide and scared. Slowly, she came to her senses as the blood spread through Peter’s yellow shirt, the color turning an awful orange. She watched, horrified, as crimson dripped down his fingers when he pulled pieces of glass out of his arm.

“Pepper, hey, hey,” He put his hands in front of him to symbolize no animosity. “It’s just me. I’m not here to hurt you, okay? I know that you’re hurting, more than I can imagine, but I need you to look at me, okay?”

Her eyes didn’t move from his bleeding shoulder and the growing orange stain.

“Pepper, I think you’ve hurt your arm.” He whispered gently, taking careful steps towards her. “And I think you’re a bit out of it. Were you sleeping?”

She didn’t reply, not that he had really been expecting her to.

He reached for her sleeve and pulled it up to expose the cut on her arm. There was a piece of a ceramic bowl stuck in between her freckles. Peter’s heart ached as he pulled out the object. The second that he placed the shard down, she began to freak out. She whimpered, hitting his hand on her wrist. Immediately, he let go, but she didn’t let up. She pushed his chest, punched his injured shoulder and forcing him against the wall. He wasn’t about to fight Pepper Potts (Tony would – Tony’s ghost would kill him), so he tried to grab her arms.

“Pepper! Pepper, it’s me!” he wasn’t worried about Pepper hurting him. He was an enhanced superhero. He was frightened she might hurt herself. They were surrounded by broken glass and pottery. If she tripped, if something hit her face… “Hey, hey, it’s alright!”

A lie. They both knew it.

“It’s going to be alright, okay?” he tried to catch her hands again but missed in her flurry of movement. A slam connected with his cheek. He welcomed the pain. “I know, I know. I know it hurts. I get it.”

She let out a righteous wail and threw herself at him. He let himself be pummeled.

He deserved it.

“I know, Pepper. I _know_.” He moaned. “I blame me too.”

She slipped on a tile and he caught her.

“Pepper, Pepper, hey, hey,” Peter grabbed her wrists. Several hits were made to his head, but he didn’t stop. Wincing, he pulled her hands down. “Hey, Pepper, I’m gonna fix it. I’m going to fix it. Trust me, Pep. Trust me, okay? I’m going to fix it. I’m going to fix it…”

Peter wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, holding the sobbing woman, but no matter how many times he promised salvation, she never stopped shaking.

Pepper was admitted to a hospital. Rhodey and Nebula stayed at the compound to help Carol and the others salvage the broken world that Thanos had left them. Steve went into the city, gave up the hero gig and tried to help the little guy.

May was dead.

Tony was dead.

Everyone was gone.

It was just Peter.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The Tower was silent. Friday didn’t make a sound as Peter fixed his tie, as he buttoned his suit, as he slipped on his shoes. The bots were quiet as he walked by the lab, the many holograms barely glowed as he shut the doors.

The news stations the next day were all talking about the same thing.

Peter Parker, new CEO of Stark Industries. Taking over the business at the ripe old age of seventeen. He hadn’t even known that he was in Tony’s will until Pepper had been hospitalized and he and Rhodey were forced to go through their things. It was the hardest thing Peter had done since he had gotten back. Everything had smelled like Tony. He had stolen several shirts (not that he wore them) and a picture of the two of them but left everything else to Rhodey. When they had talked to the lawyers, Rhodey, Happy, and Peter had been listed in the will.

He had left everything to Peter. The re-purchased Tower, the company, his suits, his money. If Pepper and he were both gone, Peter was to get _everything_. If it had been a different time, he might have inherited the entire Avengers.

But it wasn’t that time, and Peter was left with an empty skyscraper and a crumbling company.

It had been four months since the Snap (the Blip was a stupid name) when he had his first day as CEO. The staff, those that had survived, were all friendly and accommodating. If he had questions, they answered as best they could, where he was inexperienced, they picked up his slack. He thanked Tony for hiring such amazing people to represent his ideals.

Stepping into Pepper’s shoes was somehow easier than he thought it would be. He was faced with hundreds of challenges each day, but with Rhodey and Happy’s help, he fell into a routine. Wake up, get ready, be CEO for eight hours, go back to the Tower, work in the lab, go to sleep, repeat.

“You’re becoming him.” Happy said one morning during breakfast. “You have his horrid sleep schedule and everything.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but his voice came out soft. “It all feels so fast.”

Happy’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean, kiddo?”

Peter sighed heavily, staring into his orange juice instead of his friend’s concerned gaze. “I mean… I mean only four months ago I was just a sixteen-year-old kid who saved cats from trees and stopped petty criminals. I had a family, friends. Now I’m a seventeen-year-old CEO of a company I only _dreamed_ of being a part of, I don’t have any friends, and I’m no hero.”

Happy’s smile was sad when Peter looked up. “Peter, you still have a family.”

He sat there for a moment, staring at the man who had once ignored his text messages, who was now one of the closest and dearest people in his life, and wondering if this was one of those “good things” that Rhodey talked about coming out of tragedy. Wondered if this was the reparation for all Peter had lost. Wondered if CEO and billionaire made up for the holes in his heart.

“Peter, you don’t have to be okay. You know that, right?”

Something in him stirred at the words, like it had been waiting for permission to crumble into a useless heap of sobs and pain.

But Peter had seen the others react to Pepper’s breakdown. He hadn’t been a burden yet, he wouldn’t start now.

“I’m okay, Happy.” He struggled to make him smile look genuine. “Does all of this suck? Yeah, it does. But I have a duty to Tony to keep going. That’s what he would have wanted.”

The bodyguard flinched. “He would have wanted you to be _happy_, Peter.”

Probably.

“Tony didn’t leave his company to you so that you could wither away in that damn office as the ripe old age of seventeen, trying to earn a redemption you never should have felt you had to earn in the first place.” Happy grabbed the boy (for that’s all he really was) by the wrist, reaching for his attention. Peter looked up again, eyes weary. The older man’s face was sad. “He wanted you to take over Stark Industries because you wanted to, because he saw you as – as his _son_, not as a duty to a dead man.”

“Have you moved on?”

The soft question was louder to both their ears than any scream. Happy’s beseeching expression fell. Peter thought of Pepper, in a hospital room, staring out the window and never really seeing anything. He thought of Steve Rogers, trying and failing to get therapy for himself so he started his own to help others. He thought of Nebula and Rocket, who both set out saving people with Natasha and her broken Avengers.

“Have any of us?”

Happy sighed. “I don’t want you to move on, Pete. I want you to try, that’s all.”

_ Please?_

Peter held the man’s eyes for several silent moments. Once upon a time, Peter had been terrified of silence. Too much silence opened doors for inner demons to surface and choke him, drag him into darkness. Now, well, it wasn’t like he had tamed the inner terrors. In fact, they were kind of out of control (which was why Peter had programmed Friday to alert anyone should he go to the roof) but silence wasn’t scary anymore. Silence was normal.

It was the only thing that was constant.

But there was a tiny part of him that wanted to listen to Happy. A tiny part of him that yearned to latch onto Happy’s hope like it was a lifeline and never let go until the sun rose, the darkness fled, and the silence was filled with laughter. This part of him, this part of the Peter before the Snap, never game up. It was the part of him that still did research into reversing what had happened, trying to replicate the stones, rewrite history. It was the part of him that put the razor back down, that programmed Friday to alert Happy, Rhodes, Nebula, any of the other Avengers, if Peter tried to hurt himself. It was the part of Peter that would try.

He broke the silence, voice raspy with tears he hadn’t known he’d shed. “Okay.”

He tried.

Peter challenged himself to think of five good things by the time he finished breakfast. He took daily runs around Central Park. He chose to eat healthily. He and Nebula began spending time in the labs (not Tony’s. Never he and Tony’s lab) together, experimenting and having fun; Rocket joined them often. The trio – Happy, Rhodey, and Peter – went bowling once a month and got together for coffee at least once a week. He listened to AC/DC while doing work, learned piano, and got really good at crosswords.

He was trying.

It had been ten months since the Snap when he went back to the Compound for the first time. He climbed out of his car and let out a long breath, smoke coming from his mouth in the cold morning. He let himself simply look at the campus for a few minutes, taking in the place where he had stolen away on the weekends, when it was just he and Tony making a mess of the lab and drinking hot chocolate at four a.m. The place didn’t look any different, besides the lack of people, but he could feel the gloomy atmosphere as soon as he closed his door.

Things had changed.

So had he.

That was okay.

Peter walked through the Compound like he owned the place (he did) and traversed the corridors with a familiar air of ease. This had been solace from bullies and school, from the worries of the Vulture and Spiderman. It was just him and Mister Stark. They didn’t need anything else.

Now it was just Natasha.

It was ten months to the day when Peter marched up to Natasha Romanoff and asked to be a part of her team. She looked him over once, raised an amber brow, and smirked. “Well, I guess we could use another spider. You got a suit?”

Peter nodded.

“Then suit up. Nebula and Carol leave in an hour.”

Peter didn’t smile, but his heart lifted.

It was a start. 

A year came and went. Stark Industries flourished. Some days, Peter was able to name _eight_ good things before breakfast in the morning. He and Steve trained together on Saturdays. He went on missions twice a week; he wanted to be out there every single hour, trying to <strike>make up for his failure</strike> save people, but the others thought it best to give him time to do other things than feel the weight of the world on his shoulders all the time. Not that he didn’t feel that already anyway. But they cared, and he was trying, so he did as they asked.

He and Natasha quickly formed a bond. She went from ‘Miss Black Widow, ma’am’ to ‘Miss Romanoff’ to ‘Romanoff’ to ‘Miss Natasha’ and finally she got him to just call her ‘Nat’. She was delighted to learn he’d done ballet when he was younger, and they spent downtime at the compound dancing. She was more skilled than he could ever wish to be, but she never made him feel incompetent. She liked to ruffle his hair a lot, and if Peter closed his eyes tight enough, he could sometimes imagine it was just another day at the Compound, with Natasha petting his hair and Mister Stark in the kitchen making lasagna, Rhodey laughing with Happy as they drank coffee, and Thanos just a nightmare quelled by gentle words and soft singing.

On the day of the anniversary, Peter walked down to the lake beside the Compound. It was cold and wet and Rhodey would probably freak out about him getting frostbite later. He sat there until Happy came and carried him back inside. No one said anything about the tears on his cheeks.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

Peter blinked in shock, looking away from his paperwork and over his glasses to see Steve standing in the kitchen archway, arms crossed and a soft smile on his face. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, no shoes. He looked right at home in the Tower. Peter wondered when that had happened.

“What?” he asked.

“Your birthday, bud.” The super soldier stepped forward, leaning against the countertop island that Peter was sitting at. “You’re turning eighteen on Monday. That’s kind of a big deal. What do you want?”

_“Pepper’ll start training you when you turn eighteen,” Tony mentioned nonchalantly. _

_ “Training?” Peter asked, brows scrunching in confusion. “For what?”_

_ “Inheriting the company.” He answered, and then continued like he hadn’t dropped a bomb at Peter’s feet. “Gotta keep the business in the family.” _

_ “The bus – what?!” _

_ Tony turned towards him, amused smirk replaced with a gentle grin. “You’re the closes thing I’ll ever get to having kids, Pete. You’re it, kiddo.” _

_ “I – _what_?!”_

_ He laughed, throwing his head back. “Just wait until I tell you you’re inheriting my entire fortune.”_

_ “EXCUSE ME?!” _

“… eter? Peter! PETER!”

Someone was shaking him. Peter’s eyes flew open and reality came crashing down. He wasn’t breathing. His chest heaved with the effort of getting air into his lungs and distantly he was aware that there were tears running down his face like a monsoon, but the only thing he could register fully was Steve’s harsh grip on his arms.

“Peter, I need you to copy my breathing, okay? You’re having a panic attack and if you don’t calm down, you’re going to pass out. Can you hear me? Breathe, Pete, breathe, kiddo.”

_“You’re it, kiddo.” _

“Peter!”

He could hear Steve, but it was like it was coming through a fog. “I can’t – I’m sorry, I don’t know – _Steve_ -,”

He hated begging like this, becoming a child like this. He was turning eighteen for God’s sake. How was he supposed to be a CEO and a hero if he broke down over something so stupid lie this?

Tony would be so disappointed in him.

“Tony would never be disappointed in you, Peter,” Steve’s gentle voice was clearer. “Tony _loved_ you.” 

His breathing settled down, but his sobs increased.

“He loved you so much, Peter.”

Everything he hadn’t felt since Tony had become dust in his arms tumbled out of him at once. All of the anger and pain and guilt consumed _everything_ and nothing was okay, nothing was going to be okay ever again because his _person_ was gone. Tony Stark, his mentor, his friend, his _dad_, was dead and he couldn’t do anything to bring him back. Guilt and shame bubbled up inside him to join the agony that had settled in his chest and hadn’t left since Tony had died. Tears welled in his eyes and burned against his skin as they rolled down his cheeks. His throat screamed with each new sob, each cry of pain, and he wanted to kill himself at that moment. He wished he had been the one to become dust, wished he had faded into nothing but a memory, because it would hurt less than this. Wished above all that he could be wherever Tony was, wished that he hadn’t wasted time when he had been alive, wished he’d done all the stupid things they’d said they’d do together. He wished that he had held on tighter, had laughed longer, had stayed up with Tony until the sun rose again and lost sleep just to be with him.

People had always told Peter that he would get over the death of his parents, of Uncle Ben.

They were wrong. He was almost eighteen years old and there wasn’t a day that passed when he didn’t see Ben’s blood on his hands, when he didn’t hear the phantom screams of his parents. There was a day that passed when he didn’t see all the people that he couldn’t save, that he didn’t remember the tears in Liz’s eyes.

He choked on his tears as he looked up at Captain America.

“Does it ever end?”

Steve’s lips trembled as he fought tears of his own and quickly lost that battle. “I don’t know.”

There was a time when he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as Steve, a time when Peter took all the things he blamed himself for and transferred them to the soldier. But not now. Not for a long time.

Tragedy makes friends of us all.

He launched himself at the man. Peter’s neatly kept papers flew across the room, fell to the floor, were covered in water and dirt and he didn’t care because what did all those trivial, stupid papers matter? Bills and money and new rules? What did any of that meaningless shit matter in the face of it all?

People told him he could get over Tony’s death.

They were wrong.

He sobbed, body shaking with each shaking breath that squeezed through his aching lungs. He scrambled to find a hold on Steve’s shoulders, hands reaching for comfort he hadn’t known since Tony became dust on his fingertips.

He didn’t find it.

He had tried, just like Happy asked him. So why wasn’t he _better_?

Steve’s arms wrapped around Peter tightly, holding him together when he couldn’t do it himself. When he shouldn’t have to. “Shh, shh, I know, I know.”

Peter was glad he didn’t say “it’s alright” or “it’s going to be okay” because Peter would have decked him.

The kitchen’s silence was not like the silence that Peter had become accustomed to. It was heavy and full of tears and pain, no numb disinterest to be found. Sobs from both heroes broke any peaceful daze, any giddy amnesia of what had happened. Because isn’t that the kind of silence that Peter loved best? The one that drowned out his pain into nothing but a buzz, a small inconvenience that he could quickly turn off?

But that wasn’t right. That wasn’t healthy.

That’s not what Tony would have wanted.

“Loving … loving Tony changed your life, Peter.” Steve whispered soothingly, reaching up to link his fingers in Peter’s slicked-back hair. He quickly ruined the image, disrupting the locks and releasing his curls. “It makes perfect sense that losing him would do the same.”

Peter shook his head, burying further into Steve’s embrace and trying to find peace there.

“And that’s okay, Peter.”

He sobbed.

“Peter, hey, look at me.”

He shook his head again. He wouldn’t face it. He _couldn’t_.

“Pete.”

Steve pulled back, holding the boy’s face in his hands. “That’s okay.”

He stared.

“That’s okay.”

This was no broken record speech. This wasn’t repetition for no reason. Steve was a soldier. Steve had seen battle and death. Steve had lost people that he loved.

Just like Peter.

“Peter, it’s okay.”

Not, “it will be okay”, not “you’ll be alright”. This was “it’s okay to feel this.”

He gasped for breath. “I can’t – Steve, I _can’t_.”

Peter often wondered when he had gotten so damn good at wearing his masks. He had often joked with Ned about how the loss in his life had made him numb. How, whenever someone tried to tease him about being an orphan, or how his uncle was dead, or how he couldn’t save any of them, he shrugged, laughed, and pushed it off because what could he do about it? But loss hadn’t made him numb. Loss had made everything worse. He felt everything three thousand times more and every death felt like a bullet straight into his heart that never stopped bleeding. Every memory, every flash of a smile he would never see again, pierced his soul like a poison-tipped arrow that burned every part of his being and left him toxic, desperate, gasping for breath that only the lost could possibly return to him.

But they never did, and Peter was left in the wake, choking on nothing until darkness consumed him again.

“I can’t, Steve. It _hurts_.” He sobbed, pulling away from the compassionate embrace that felt to much like his warm arms around Peter’ shaking shoulders. He backed away, clean button-up now wrinkled with the actions of grief. His back hit the wall with a thud, the pain shooting through to his fingertips. Was this what Pepper felt that night? This overwhelming need to die? This desire to become nothing but dust on the wind <strike>like him</strike> because it would hurt less. “It hurts and it never stops hurting and I’ve been hurting for so fucking _l o n g_, Steve.”

The pain at his back dulled, so he threw his head against the wall. It was exhilarating, it was grounding, it was another thing that he could rely on. Pain and silence and darkness and sadness and grief and shame and death and-

Slam, _slam, **slam**_!

Again and again, he jerked, hitting his skull again and again into the plaster.

“Everyone I love ends up dead,” Peter moaned, gripping his hair and pulling. More pain. Maybe if he pulled hard enough, if he made himself hurt enough, the aching of his soul would lessen. “My parents, Uncle Ben, May, Tony-,”

Steve was walking towards him, distantly he was aware of that, and Peter slid to the floor, feeling a trail of blood following him down; he must have broken skin against the wall. “I am cursed, and I am so broken and there is a weight that has – that has stayed since I was four and it won’t leave and each time I lose another person it just gets heavier until I am nothing but this pain and memory. And I don’t know what it’s like not to be hurting anymore because that’s all I am. I am nothing but pain and a couple of safety pins and – and …”

He raised his wet eyes to meet Steve’s heartbroken gaze.

“I’m so _sad_.”

He sniffed, letting out a shaky breath and focusing on how hot the tears were against his cheeks.

“I am so sad, Steve.”

The soldier surged forward and dropped to his knees. He gathered the broken boy up in his arms and held him so tightly that if it had been anyone else, he would have hurt Peter’s back. The seventeen-year-old crumbled into the embrace like someone had cut the strings on a puppet, letting himself be coddled, accepting the love that he didn’t feel like he deserved.

“I know, Peter.”

Peter sobbed. “What am I supposed to do?”

Steve scoffed wetly as he pulled back, the tears on his cheeks reflecting the bright kitchen light. Looking at the man, Peter wondered how on earth Tony could have ever hated him – if he ever really did. This man was a hero, and yes, he was human – he had made mistakes – but he was good. He loved deeply and thoroughly. He sacrificed and gave time, gave his life, to help people. He wasn’t just a good soldier.

He was a good man.

Was Peter?

Steve thumbed Peter’s cheeks gently, bringing their faces impossibly closer. “You live.”

It wasn’t good. Peter didn’t know if it would ever be as “good” as it had been before the Snap, but Steve didn’t promise it would be. Steve knew loss better than anyone. But it was something. And as Peter nodded into the man’s warm palms, a semblance of the comfort that he had once felt when Tony had hugged him for the first time appeared. Releasing his hold on the weight of the world for just a moment, he sunk once again into the hero’s arms and let himself be _held_.

It wasn’t much.

But it was a start.

There was no big party on August tenth. Nebula, Steve, Rhodey, Natasha, and Happy came up to the Tower and piled onto one couch to watch Star Wars with him. Nebula and Rhodey were on the floor, covered in a fluffy blanket. Steve was somehow perched beside Nat but also on the couch’s armrest. Peter burrowed himself between Happy and Natasha. They popped popcorn and ordered pizza. Nebula talked through all six films, Rhodey argued about the aerodynamics of spaceships, and Happy fussed over Peter for half the time, but Peter didn’t mind any of it.

And as the end credits rolled for Return of the Jedi, he smiled.

It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be.

Pepper came back to the Tower on September twenty-fifth. She walked into the penthouse like she’d never left it and smiled gently at the familiar place. Peter and Happy stood waiting, the younger holding a bouquet of roses and her favorite kind of chocolate. The moment she met his eyes across the tiled floor, Peter knew.

“Hey, pumpkin.”

His breath hitched the tiniest bit. “Hey, Miss Potts.”

She laughed wetly and ran forward, her heels clicking against the ground a comforting sound that Peter had heard a million times before. He handed the chocolate and flowers off to Happy just in time for her to pull him into a bone-crushing hug.

This was the Pepper he remembered. This was the Pepper that wrapped his knuckles in bandages that one time he’d accidentally punched the wall instead of the punching bag. This was the Pepper that teased him about his crush on MJ, who made him hot chocolate at three in the morning after a nightmare, who made sure he was wearing enough sweaters and gloves, who always had food ready when he got back from patrol. This was the Pepper who loved Tony Stark with her whole heart, who had made Happy and Rhodey and Tony her family and then let Peter crawl in through the window to be a part of it too.

“I missed you.” She whispered.

He gripped her tighter. “I missed you too.”

Oh, how he’d missed her.

She pulled away and he could see all the guilt and the pain, all the loss that’s _she’d_ grappled with the past year. Looking into her eyes, he could tell they both had Tony shaped holes in their hearts that would never be filled.

That was okay.

Peter was learning the true meaning of that word day by day.

“You want your company back?” he asked, lips tilting up with mirth.

She snorted. “And give up all this free time that I’ll have with you in charge? I don’t think so.”

I’m proud of you, Peter.

He chuckled and hugged her again. “It’s good to have you back, Pep.”

“It’s ‘Pep’ now, is it?”

“Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I’m just waiting for ‘Mom’ to slip out.”

They both laughed, and for a moment everything felt perfect.

“I want a dog.”

Pepper blinked from where she was sitting on the couch. She looked so comfortable with the blanket draped over her lower body and her feet curled beneath her. The fireplace crackled with warmth to fight the November cold. She turned to stare at Peter, still in his suit from his most recent mission, as he placed his bag onto the counter.

“Pardon?”

Peter swallowed, rolling his shoulders and thinking of the warm clothes in his room that he was anxious to change into. The Iron Spider suit was comfortable, sure, but after three days in the cold rain, he was ready for some old jeans and one of Rhodey’s MIT sweatshirts. “I want a dog.”

“Okay, I heard you the first time.” Pepper cleared her throat, ginger brows furrowing. “Care to tell me why?”

“Well, I…” ah, here it was. Peter didn’t want to say ‘I just want a friend’ because that made him look like a lonely child, but Pepper would see through any lie he tried to come up with.

“I feel lonely.”

Her blue eyes sharpened with sorrow and her smile returned tinged with sadness. “You’re a big boy, Peter. Why do you need to ask me for permission?”

He swallowed. She’d only been back for two months. How did he tell her that he saw her as his mom? How did he tell her that he’d always seen her that way, that he’d always thought of her and Tony as – as –

“This is your home. I didn’t want to barge in with a puppy without asking first. I may be a boy, Pep, but Aunt May didn’t raise no fool.”

She chuckled softly, putting her book down. She threw her arm over the back of the couch and looked at him with that look that could tear any truth from Peter’s lips. “Do you want me to go with you to get one.”

His heart jumped. “I’d love that.”

“Then go change, Spiderbaby,” the endearment punching him in the gut, but it also made his smile appear. “I don’t think you want your secret identity revealed just yet.”

“That would be so lame,” Peter replied as he turned to walk back to the elevator. “My secret identity becomes common knowledge because I didn’t change my suit before going to the shelter. What a story.”

“He would have laughed.”

The statement made Peter freeze. They hadn’t talked about it. Hell, the last time either of them unearthed feelings about the Snap, Pepper had launched a plate at him.

They weren’t ready. He wasn’t ready.

“Yeah, yeah he would have.”

The silence was light. It was a nice change.

“Go on, Sticky,” Pepper’s soothing voice was laced with mourning. “And get your butt back down here. We have a dog to save.”

Peter swallowed and entered the elevator without replying.

As he changed, he couldn’t help but look at the picture on his desk. It was the photo that they’d taken to prove his cover story about the Internship. He grinned through the frame, childish and not innocent but less broken. There was a light in that Peter’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

He couldn’t meet Tony’s eyes. He hadn’t been able to meet his eyes since Titan.

He shook his head and grabbed his keys.

Pepper had grabbed a coat and put her shoes on by the time he returned to the common floor and Rhodey had appeared. He was leaning against the counter with an amused smile on his face.

“A dog, squirt?”

Peter’s lips quirked. “Well, you always joke about me being an animal. I thought I should get myself a partner in crime.”

“Ah, yes, Peter Parker, crime lord extraordinaire, and his puppy sidekick.”

The eighteen-year-old stuck his tongue out. Rhodey tried to grab it.

“Just don’t bring back a dog that sheds,” the war hero cringed.

“My Tower, James,” Peter shrugged, hooking Pepper’s arm through his. “I can do what I want.”

The War Machine groaned. Pepper and Peter laughed and walked into the elevator.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the shelter. They stopped for coffee and scones from the shop just around the corner. The barista knew Peter’s order by heart and smiled at him when he entered. He and Pepper chatted about the company and hero business. Paparazzi would have been all over them before the Snap. The streets were quieter now.

The animal shelter was packed. Not with people, of course, but with pets that had been left behind after their owners had disappeared. As soon as he walked inside, Peter wanted to adopt all of them.

The man at the desk smiled at them. “Hi there. What can I – oh my God. Are you Peter Stark?”

Peter blinked in shock. “I – um, -,”

“Oh my God,” he rounded the desk and grabbed Peter’s hand and gave it an enthusiastic shake. “I’m Allan Stacy. Your SHAD program saved my daughter’s life! Thank you so much.”

Warmth seeped into his chest, and the shock of the mistaken last name washed away in the face of the revelation. He grasped the man’s fingers with both of his hands and nodded. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m only doing what anyone should.”

“No.” Allan shook his head. “Thank you. Thank you _so_ much, Mister Stark.”

Again, ice shot through his body, but he kept the smile on. “You’re welcome.”

He could feel Pepper’s eyes on him.

“What can I help you with?” Allan pulled his hands away and put them in his pockets, smile wider than before.

“I’m here to adopt a dog,” Peter replied.

“Need a friend?” he asked.

For a moment, he thought about lying.

“Yeah,” the kid nodded, smile soft.

Allan nodded. “Gwen needed a friend too. Follow me, I’ll take you back.”

Peter pulled Pepper after him. She leaned closer and whispered, “What’s SHAD?”

“The Shelter and Hospital After Disaster program.” He answered quietly. “I created it for people after the Snap. It’s to help support those who’ve lost someone after Thanos. Single parents, orphans, elderly – yeah.”

Pepper was looking at him with so much adoration he had to look away. She caught his chin and forced his eyes to meet hers. “I am so proud of you.”

He didn’t deserve that.

If he had been good enough, these animals wouldn’t have been abandoned. Allan wouldn’t have needed the SHAD program, no one would have. It never would have needed to be invented at all. Thanos wouldn’t have won, they wouldn’t have lost so many people, Tony would still be here-

“Hey,” Pepper’s clear voice cut through the murkiness of Peter’s mind. “What about this little guy?”

She had stooped down to a small golden-grey puppy. He barked excitedly as she reached through the cage to scratch behind his ears. He sat without being told, happy just to bask in the affection she was giving him. His tail wagged like helicopter blades and his tongue flipped in and out of his mouth with joy.

It was love at first sight.

“Oh, that’s one of our mixed pups,” Allan said. “He’s half Siberian Husky, half Golden Retriever. Lots of the time when we bring in females off the street, they’re pregnant. This little guy was the only one of his litter to survive.”

He was alone too.

Peter knelt in front of the cage with a grace he didn’t know he possessed. Pepper stood to make room, and somehow Peter knew she was already asking Allan how much and what they would need to take care of the canine. The puppy barked again, big brown eyes sparkling, and Peter knew this was the one.

_“No.” Tony snapped without any real bite._

_Peter clasped his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Please? Pepper will love it!” _

_“Don’t give me those brown puppy-dog eyes, brat,” Tony threw a skittle at him. “I’m not adopting a dog. When I adopt something small, yappy, and annoying, it’ll be you.” _

“**_When_**?!”

“Hey, little guy,” he breathed. The puppy’s tongue darted out and licked his finger. “You wanna come home with me?”

“Does he have a name?” Pepper asked.

“No,” Allan admitted. “We call him Squirt, but he doesn’t respond to it. You can call him whatever you like, Mister Stark.”

The cage was opened. Immediately, the dog jumped into Peter’s arms and made himself quite comfortable. Pepper and Allan laughed.

“Well, it looks like you two were meant for each other,” Pepper chuckled sweetly.

For the first time in a long time, smiling in response was the easiest thing in the world.

Thanking Allen dearly and paying, they left the shelter with a matching collar, leash, and bed (red and gold, obviously). Walking back to the Tower, they discussed names. Squirt was out of the question. They cycled through the normal names – Major, Scout, Charlie, Max – but Peter didn’t think any of those fit, and honestly neither did Pepper. They turned to the fictional lottery – Gandalf, Aragorn, Harry, Albus, Zeus, Percy – but none of those felt right. Finally, as they entered the elevator of their home again, Peter lit up.

“Did you figure it out?” Pepper stroked the puppy’s fur gently. He whined happily at the attention.

“Forza!” He exclaimed. At Pepper’s confused expression, he continued. “It’s Italian for Strength.”

Her expression softened. Both Tony and May had spoken Italian.

“It’s perfect.”

He thought so too.

As Forza sprinted around the penthouse and met Rhodey, Peter ran up to his room to set up the puppy’s bed. No way was he letting that little ball of fur out of his sight for a long while. Besides, that fluffy embodiment of adorable might be good for fighting off nightmares.

When he returned, Pepper was sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee, shifting through a stack of papers as Rhodey sat on the floor with the new addition to their little family.

“Big step, kiddo.” Rhodey’s eyes took on a teasing glint. “It’s your first adoption. Soon enough you’ll be married, and you’ll leave me and Pep here to wallow in-,”

“Shut up,” he chuckled.

Pepper and Rhodey froze, eyes shooting wide.

“What?” Peter glanced back and forth between them. “What did I do?”

“You giggled,” The soldier stood slowly, puppy in his arms. “I haven’t heard you do that since… well.”

Pepper looked like she was going to cry. “Um, speaking of adoption…”

He whirled around, eyes wide, and his heart dropped to his feet.

“Earlier, when Mr. Stacy called you Peter Stark,” Pepper swallowed, tears growing in her eyes. “It reminded me. May talked to Tony and me before, and she said that if anything were to happen to her, and if you wanted it, she wanted us to be your legal guardians.”

He couldn’t breathe.

“So, um,” she ran a hand through her hair. Pepper Potts was never flustered, but as she stared down at the papers before her, her cheeks aflame, Peter thought it was the only word to describe her. “What do you say?”

“You – you want to adopt me?”

It was unheard of. Someone wanted him? Of all the broken kids in the world, all the orphans who didn’t have anywhere else to go, she wanted him? The kid who’d killed her husband, the kid who’d killed his uncle, the kid who’d failed and forgotten and fallen his entire life?

_Him_?  
Pepper looked up. A tear trickled down her cheek, but she was smiling. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

He laughed loudly, in fact, it was more like a bark, and then he yelled, “YES! Yes, yes, yes, yes! Oh my God, yes!”

He hugged her tightly, and Rhodey joined, and Forza barked cheerfully between them.

His name looked beautiful on the adoption papers.

Peter Benjamin Parker Stark.

Peter Stark for short.

It had a nice ring to it.

Peter discovered the AI the day before Christmas.

He had never fully gone through Tony’s lab. It had been a year and a half since he had died, and Peter hadn’t had the courage to delve deep into the memories that waited for him there. However, when Forza decided that he smelled something absolutely _incredible_ coming from the closed-off room, the courage Peter didn’t have would have to suffice.

“Alright, alright, would you calm down, furball? Make this quick, we need to head to the Compound for the party.” Peter rolled his eyes fondly at the dog. He’d grown more in the past month than Peter probably would for the rest of his life, and his bark had gone from whistle pitch to frying-pan-hitting-the-stove pitch. He bounded into the ginormous chamber the second the doors were open enough for him to do so.

Nostalgia and pain mingled in his chest when he put one foot over the threshold. He walked slowly into the familiar room as Forza sniffed every possible thing he could. Warmth bubbled within him, but the icy chill of loss stood its ground, making his hands shake. He took a deep breath and walked towards a familiar construction of metal.

“Heyah, Dum-E. How’ve you been?”

The robot immediately woke up, beeping excitedly. U was quick to follow suit. Forza’s barking joined in the mix of delightful sounds, Peter laughed softly, and soon the lab was filled with the noises of home.

“I know, I know, it’s been a while.” He greeted the robots kindly. “Sorry I didn’t visit earlier. It’s been … tough.”

Why was talking to robots so much easier than facing Pepper, or Steve, or any of the others? Was this why Tony had stayed in there all the time, talking to his creations and confiding in them instead of people?

“I know you guys – what, Dum-E?”

The robot had grabbed Peter’s sleeve and was pulling him towards one of the lab tables. He followed obediently, Forza’s paws clicking against the floor behind him. The dog slid under Peter’s hand and he scratched him behind the ear – a comforting message. Dum-E stopped at the table, beeping repeatedly and pointing to the hologram buttons. Peter’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What do you want me to see, bud? I’ve used this a thousand times. What’s different?”

The robot just beeped, almost sounding even more enthusiastic than before.

Peter searched around the table and found nothing out of the ordinary –

The button had letters on it. They were in dark grey lettering. Instantly, Peter called, “Friday, lights up please,” to get a better look. How had he never seen these before? The letters e, d, i, t, and h were glowing slightly. Knowing Tony, they were code. He glanced around and repeated the letters. Nothing happened.

He huffed. Forza whimpered expectantly. Peter sympathized.

“Okay, um, Edith?”

There was a buzz, a hiss, the whirr of mechanics, and a compartment opened under the button. There was a small black case in the hidden nook. Inside it was a pair of –

“Glasses?” Peter’s face scrunched up. “All this secrecy for a pair of glasses?”

He didn’t say it out loud, but he didn’t really care. Booby traps and poisoned arrows would have been a small price to pay for glasses like these. They were Tony’s after all. He picked them up gingerly, almost scared to touch them, and distinctly ignored his shaking hands. Underneath the lenses was a small piece of paper.

“For my son. I trust you,” Peter read softly.

His son? Tony didn’t have a son.

_“…because he saw you as – as his son - …” _Isn’t that what Happy had said?

With a heavy heart, he placed them onto his face.

Immediately, they lit up. A voice appeared in his ear. “Hello, Peter. I am Edith. This stands for Even Dead I’m The Hero. Tony did love his acronyms.”

His breath caught on a surprised laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, he did.”

“Would you like to watch the message that Mister Stark has left for you?”

Peter licked his dry lips. “Please.”

The glasses dimmed, but the hologram table became blue with the awakening tech. He slipped the accessory off his face and watched as one of the holographic screens came up. There, staring straight into his eyes, smile brighter than the fucking sun, was Anthony Edward Stark.

Even though Peter had been expecting it, tears still sprung to his eyes. He hadn’t seen Tony in _decades_ it seemed (one year, seven months, three weeks, and three days), and he hadn’t been able to look at him properly since. No pictures, no memory, not even in his dreams. But here he was, in all his usual Tony Stark glory, hands shoved into jean pockets and goatee trimmed to perfection.

Right when it was getting to be too much, that knowing stare, his mouth opened.

“Heyah, kiddo.”

Peter hiccupped, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“Friday, what a doll, is recording this for me for you in case of an untimely death. Not that death at any time isn’t untimely. Unfortunately, in our line of work, it’s not out of the ordinary to lose someone. You know that better than most.”

He was smiling that sad smile that always meant ‘you don’t deserve any of what life has thrown at you’ and ‘how can you still be so good after all that shit’? it made Peter’s heartache at the familiarity of it all. He clutched the edge of the desk hard enough to dent it.

“Hopefully, you never have to see this. I’m hoping that it’s just a security measure and Rhodey will never have to show it to you – I’m telling him about it. But, just in case…”

Tony was wearing one of his AC/DC shirts. Peter could see an oil stain on it.

“Listen, I’m about to say some stuff that I don’t have the guts to say to you in person, Pete, so pay attention, okay? You paying attention?”

“Yes.” Peter croaked.

As if Tony had heard him, he plunged. “There are so many things that I want to do with you, Pete. I want to help you apply for MIT because obviously that’s your top pick. I’m going to help you dress up for your first date with MJ, I’m going to be there when you get your after nines. I’m going to help you design new suits and take over Stark Industries and I’ll be at your wedding and – and…”

He looked down for a second to collect his thoughts.

“If you’re seeing this, then that stuff didn’t happen as planned. Whatever went wrong, or went right, I’m not there. And I am so sorry.”

“No,” Peter shook his head furiously, tears clouding the edges of his vision. “No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s _mine_. _I’m_ sorry.”

“And I know that you’re blaming yourself, kid,” Tony’s smile had disappeared, replaced by an all-knowing frown. His eyes were wounded, wounded at the thought of Peter hurting because of misplaced blame. “But it’s not your fault, Peter Parker. None of it has ever been your fault. Not your parents, not Ben, and especially not me.”

“You’re wrong,” the boy – _eighteen. You’re **eighteen**, Peter, get it together_ – whimpered.

“Peter, it’s not your fault. If you’re watching this, and I’m dead, then I want you to remember something. If nothing else, remember this.”

He stared right into Peter’s soul and said, “I’m not gone.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?!” Peter stood straight suddenly, making Forza jump. He grabbed his hair and pulled, curls in disarray. “You’re wrong! You’re all wrong! I failed! DO YOU HEAR ME? I FAILED AND YOU AREN’T HERE!”

The video had paused, as if Friday knew that Peter needed to scream, that he needed a moment to let the anger that had never surfaced boil over.

“YOU LEFT ME!” Peter screamed. “YOU LEFT ME ALONE AND IT’S MY FAULT!”

Forza scampered out of the room, howling. He wouldn’t find anyone to save Peter. No one else was in the Tower. It was Christmas. He was supposed to be at the Compound to celebrate, and here he was, screeching at a hologram.

“I AM BROKEN! DO YOU HEAR ME?! BROKEN, TONY! I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF FEELING SO AWFUL ALL THE DAMN TIME AND EVERY TIME I THINK THAT IT’LL GET BETTER, I SEE YOU. I SEE YOU OR I SEE THE WAY STEVE LOOKS AT BUCKY’S PICTURE OR HOW NEBULA MISSES HER SISTER AND IF I HAD DONE MORE I COULD HAVE SAVED YOU!”

Forza was barking down the hall, but Peter could barely hear it over the pounding of his chest. His breathing was heavy and wet and furious, sobs were brewing at the bottom of his throat and his stomach churned with the nausea of overwhelming pain.

“I AM HURTING SO MUCH ALL THE TIME AND I CAN’T STOP ANY OF IT! IT’S LIKE I HAVE THIS HAPPY PERSONALITY BUT A SAD FUCKING SOUL AND IT NEVER STOPS! IT NEVER _STOPS_ AND I WANT IT TO STOP PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!”

He dropped, back against the opposite table, tears running down his face in torrents. “Make it stop… _Dad_, please make it stop.”

His sobs were muffled as he stuck his fist into his mouth. He felt like such a child, like the little boy who had curled up in the bathroom, hand in his mouth after Skip had left him alone _again_. Felt like the fourteen-year-old little boy who had rocked back and forth in the middle of that street, hands covered in his uncle’s blood. Felt like that little boy who had sobbed as the dust of his mentor disappeared from his fingers, the last remnant of the man he had come to see as a father.

The man staring down at him.

The video resumed, and Peter almost yelled at Friday to stop it.

“I’m never going to be really gone,” Tony hummed softly. His tone was the same when Peter had a panic attack or when he was sick. It was the voice that calmed all of his fears, quieted all his insecurities. His demons were no match for that voice. “I’m in Pepper’s sly little smirk, or Rhodey’s laugh, or your smile. Peter, I am still here. I promise. And I’m never leaving you, kid, not ever, do you hear me?”

Peter turned his face away from the love he didn’t deserve. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Tony should have been there, with him, telling this to Peter in person.

“I know you feel abandoned,” His hero continued solemnly. “You’ll deny it all the livelong day, but I know you do. Your life has been filled with people who leave, but I’m not one of them, Pete.”

“You are,” Peter moaned, closing his eyes and banging his head against the steel table. It didn’t even sting. “You _are_.”

_But it’s my fault, Tony. I couldn’t save you_.

“I’m going to haunt your ass until you die and then when you get up here, I’m going to give you the biggest hug you can imagine.” Tony’s smile returned with vigor. “Second thing: I am so fucking proud of you, Peter Parker. You are the smartest kid I know, and every time I see one of your report cards, or you tell me about the ‘A’ you got on a test, my chest _hurts_ from how proud I am of you. But more importantly than that, kiddo, you’re good. Oh, Pete, you’re so _good_.”

Unable to speak, Peter just shook his head.

“I know you don’t think so.” The sad frown was back, also with a burning vigor. “I hate how you don’t think you’re smart or talented or good. I hate that you fight the demons of depression and anxiety and self-hatred. I _hate_ that you look at yourself and see nothing lovable, because kiddo, oh Peter…”

Peter looked up. Tony had tears in his eyes.

That couldn’t be right. Tony Stark didn’t cry, especially not about Peter Parker.

“Third thing, kiddo.” His voice was shaking. When had Tony Stark ever been nervous in front of people? When had his voice ever quivered as it did now? It just didn’t make sense. “This one’s the most important one, so write it down.”

He would have laughed if his heart wasn’t being torn from his chest.

“Peter, I love you so much.”

Peter gasped.

“I love you so fucking much, Peter. I know I don’t say it. I only hope that if you’re watching this, if I’m gone, I hope that I said it to you then. I hope that I didn’t die without you knowing how much I love you, because Peter Benjamin Parker Stark,” he laughed wetly at his joke, but he had no idea how much that meant. “I love you. I love you, I love you, I _love_ you, and I will say it enough so that it drowns out all the voices telling you otherwise. And when you can’t believe it, I want you to listen to this recording, just this part, and remind yourself of the truth. Because I love you; that is the truth. I think of you as my kid – you _are_ my kid –, you are the thing that is most important in my entire life. You make my life worth living and you outshine the damn sun, Peter.”

_“Peter. Peter, I lo-,_”

“I don’t believe in soulmates, Peter, or at least I didn’t,” Tony muttered sweetly. “Not until I met you. My life is infinitely better because of you, Peter Parker. Don’t you ever forget it. I don’t regret a single damn thing, do you hear me? Not a single thing. You are worth all of the pain, whatever death. You’re worth it all.”

“I’m not,” Peter sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes until his skin burned. “I’m not!”

“You are,” Tony replied as if he knew. As if he knew how lowly Peter considered himself.

And he did.

He had always known.

Because he loved Peter enough to try to get to know him. He loved him enough to understand and still stay. He hadn’t left. Not really.

“You’re the future, Peter. Stark Industries, the Avengers, it’s all yours,” Tony smiled. “When you want it, of course. My father spent his life forcing me into things I didn’t want and wasn’t ready for. I’m not my dad.”

“Never,” Peter whined.

“I trust you, kiddo. But I also know that you’re scared. Hell, anyone would be – should be. So I’ve made something to help you out a little bit.”

Peter stood shakily to his feet and walked closer. His anger had disappeared, replaced with a longing to be near Tony – to be near his dad. He had never called him that. He had always been so scared of rejection. Why hadn’t he taken the leap of faith and done it while he had the chance? He reached towards the hologram, fingers going through the blue light and shaking the image.

“The Edith glasses – they have a protocol called ‘Help From Above’. Say those words and you’ll find a suit I’ve made for you. It’s nothing special, certainly not your Iron Spider suit, not that you’ve seen that one yet, it’s a lot like the one you have now, except I traded the blue for black. Classier or whatever. Anyway, the appearance isn’t the point. I took the liberty of replacing Karen… with me.”

Peter’s heart stopped. Was Tony meaning what he thought he was meaning?

“It’s not _me_ me, of course. If you’re watching this, _me_ me is dead. But it’s programmed to act like me. It’s my vocals and personality, as damn near as I could get it.” he scratched the back of his neck and smiled sadly. “But even if I’m dead, I want to protect the one thing I can’t live without.”

He looked up and met brown eyes identical to his.

“You.”

Peter didn’t know how he could smile, but he did.

Tony had always been good at helping Peter do what he felt was impossible.

“So, if you want me, just tell Edith that. She’ll open the panel to your left, and you can suit up. Or just talk to me. It’s programmed to do that too.”

This was too much. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Rhodey and Pepper’s kindness, the adoption, Forza, Steve’s loyalty and understanding, Natasha’s silent support and knowing eyes, Nebula’s fond touches or Rocket’s jokes.

But was it about what he deserved at all?

“If I can help you at all, if this helps the pain at all, I’ll have done my job,” Tony declared. “After all, that’s what a dad does for his son, isn’t it?”

Peter laughed, tears in his eyes. But it was okay.

It.

Was.

Okay.

And that was enough.

“I know you’d have hated it if I called you this, but I’m going to do it just once, okay? So, humor me for just a second, okay, Pete?”

‘_Anything_’, Peter thought. ‘_Anything you want, Tony_.’

The billionaire took a deep breath, preparing himself. “I want you to know better than anything else in the entire world, better than any Calculus problem, or any wiring, or any historical fact, that I love you, Peter, my kid.”

Peter hiccupped.

“My son.”

Peter sobbed.

“My _baby_,” Tony was crying too. He laughed quietly, as if the word amazed him, or perhaps it was the meaning behind the word. “Oh, baby, I love you so much. You’re my kid, understand? Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise. Whether those adoption papers I have upstairs ever get used or not, you’re my baby. No strings attached.”

Loved. That’s what that word meant. That endearment.

He was loved.

“I’m recording this because I can feel something brewing, Pete, and I’ll be damned if I die without saying goodbye. But this isn’t goodbye forever. It’s just see you later. So, I’ll see you later, okay, kiddo?”

Peter nodded. “Okay.”

Tony grinned. “Proud of you, Pete. Keep saving the world, Spiderbaby.”

He nodded curtly. He didn’t wipe his tears away, almost as if he wanted Peter to see them.

“I love you three thousand, Peter.” The screen froze on his smiling face.

Peter swallowed around the ball of emotions stuck in his throat.

“I love you too,” Peter whispered.

He picked up the Edith glasses and asked for the Help From Above protocol. Sure enough, the panel between two Iron Man suits opened to reveal his new Spiderman suit. It was black and red, and the blue light from the hologram reflected off the metal pieces. It was gorgeous.

Peter’s smile wasn’t wide enough to outshine the damn sun, but it was a start.

He pulled on the suit just as the clock chimed twelve.

“Merry Christmas, Peter,” Friday said quietly.

“Merry Christmas, Friday.”

He pulled the mask over his face and breathed the familiar smell of heroism.

“_Hey, kid. Did you miss me_?”

“Now, we know what it sounds like.”

Peter glared at Scott doubtfully, crossing his arms. A year and fifty-one weeks to the day when Nat, Steve, and Scot Lang had graced his doorstep with quantum theory and high hopes. He wondered how long it would take them to realize that Peter had already done all the research and experiments, all the math, for this situation.

Steve sighed. “Peter, after everything you've seen, is anything really impossible...”

“Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck scale, which then triggers the Deutsch proposition. In Layman's terms, it means you're not coming home.” Peter shook his head.

“I did.”

“You survived on a fluke, Scott,” Peter muttered. “It’s a billion to one chance, maybe more, and you want to pull a time heist? You want to Back to the Future this thing?”

“The stones are in the past,” Steve crossed his arms. “We can go back, and we can get them.”

“We can snap our own fingers,” Natasha continued with a determined nod. “We can bring everybody back.”

“Or we could screw it up worse.” Peter wasn’t used to being the logical one. He was used to having the giddy optimism, the blind faith, the jumping in and not looking for snakes. But if they were going to do this, they had to be absolutely sure. No doubts.

“Not if we strictly follow the rules of time travel,” Scott stressed. 

“There are rules of time travel?” Peter asked incredulously.

The man nodded. “No talking to our past selves, no betting on sporting events.”

“I know you have a lot to risk, Peter,” Steve started.

“I’m not worried about me,” Peter interrupted. “What about people who have new lives? What about people who’ve remarried? Who have had new kids? What about all the orphans who’ve finally gotten new parents and families and homes they feel safe in? People who’ve mourned and mourned over their lost loved ones and finally found it in themselves to get up in the morning again?”

Natasha scoffed softly. “When are you going to think about yourself?”

Peter looked at her quizzically.

“Peter, we can get _Tony_ back.”

Like he didn’t know that. Like he didn’t know the implications of this whole thing.

Like he hadn’t been doing research into time travel for the past two years.

“Well, I guess you might need some calculations.” Peter looked up at the ceiling. Friday took the cue. “Good thing I went ahead and did some for you.”

The screens lit up behind him and the three heroes gasped.

“So, you’re in?” Steve asked, his smile growing with each passing second.

Peter didn’t smile. His jaw was set. There was a fire in his eyes.

“I’m in.”

He turned and walked to one of the control panels on the wall. “Since this is the end times, you might be wanting this back.”

The telltale red, white, and blue shield was uncovered. Steve gasped from where he was.

Peter lifted it off its pedestal. “He would have wanted you to have it.”

He stretched out the legendary weapon. Steve took it.

“Do you trust me?” Peter asked quietly, for only enhanced ears to hear.

The soldier’s eyes softened like they only did for Peter. “Always.” 

  
  
“What are you reading?”

He found her in her usual spot, curled up on the couch near the fireplace. Forza was sitting on her feet, snuggled in between the couch and her body. He perked up upon hearing his master’s voice.

“Hey buddy,” he greeted softly, petting the dog gently. He was reaching max size, or at least the max size that Allan said he’d get. He looked up to Pepper.

“Just a book on composting,” she replied, smile soft.

“What’s new with composting?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

She was waiting for him. She knew he had something to say. She was good like that. “I figured it out.”

Both ginger brows raised.

“Time travel.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

Peter looked away, unable to shield the tears in his eyes.

“That’s…”

“Amazing?” Peter nodded tensely. “And, you know, terrifying.”

“Peter.”

He couldn’t look at her. “I got lucky.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

“Well, I can’t help everybody.” Peter choked. Except he had always wanted to do that. That was his goal. That was why he was a hero.

He wanted to save everyone.

That’s why he blamed himself so much.

“Peter.”

He dragged his misty eyes upwards to Pepper – to his mom. “It sorta seems like you can.”

“I can stop,” he spat quietly. “I can put a pin in it now. Better later than never, right?”

“Peter, you and Tony are so similar.” She reached over and cupped his cheek. “Trying to get him to stop was one of the few failures of my entire life.”

“Part of me feels I should put it in a locked box and drop it in the middle of the Hudson and just… go back to bed.” He sniffed, ran his hand over Forza’s fur and leaned into Pepper’s warm palm. “Curl up on this couch with you and Forza and never worry about it again. Be thankful for what I’ve _found_ and… and…”

Pepper squeezed his cheek. He looked up at her.

“But would you be able to rest?”

Her thumb caught his tear.

“You’re not fighting alone, you hear me?” she brought his face close to hers and touched their foreheads together. “You need help, anything like Titan happens, you call me, okay? Don’t think I don’t know about the suit that you finished for me. The one that Tony started.”

“Rescue?”

“That’s the one,” she laughed softly. “You call me. Promise? I’ll go all mama bear on their asses.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t want to lose this.”

She nodded. “I know, honey. It's scary. But you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, Peter Stark. If anyone can do this, if anyone can save the world, it’s you. Tony knew that.”

She tapped his chin. He met her eyes.

“So do I.”

Peter’s lips trembled. “I love you, Mom.”

Her breath hitched.

“I love you too, baby.”

Natasha came back from Vormir alone. The good part of Peter cried with her when she crumbled to the ground, one of Clint’s arrows in hand.

The selfish part of him thanked whatever God was out there that he didn’t take Natasha from him too.

Hulk was the one who used the gauntlet.

“Bruce, no, I’ll do it.” Peter offered. Immediately, five separate glares all pierced his skull. “What?”

“Peter, no.” Natasha bit the words.

“I’m stron-,”

“No, Peter,” Steve ordered. “End of discussion.”

“The radiation is mostly gamma,” Hulk murmured, laying a reassuring hand to Peter’s shoulder. “I was meant for this.”

Peter swallowed back his retort, instead taking a deep breath and saying, “You remember everyone Thanos snapped away two years ago. You’re just bringing them back to now, to today. No changing anything from the last two years.”

“Got it.”

The others nodded. Peter stepped back, slipping his mask onto his head. “Tony? Do me a favor and activate the Barn Door protocol, would you?”

The AI responded immediately. “_Sure thing, kid_.”

Peter’s gut churned with anticipation, with fear. He was terrified, but he also knew that if they won, if this worked, that it was all worth it.

_“You are worth all of the pain, whatever death. You’re worth it all.” _

Tony would be so mad that Peter thought the same of him. He would be so mad that he offered to wield the gauntlet, to snap. But it was true. If he died… if his death brought Tony back to life, then he would be okay with that.

Tony was worth that. That and more.

“Everybody comes home.”

Peter watched, eyes glued to the gauntlet he’d made. It looked so much like the Iron Man suit. Why had he never realized before?

_Snap_.

The world didn’t explode, despite his prior thinking.

Peter pulled himself up, spotting a familiar shield beside him. He picked it up, struggling to his feet. Turning around, his wide eyes searched for Steve. The coiled-up terror unfurled slightly at the sight of the prone form of the super-soldier.

Only slightly.

“Cap!” he stumbled over to the man. “Cap! Steve, buddy, wake up. Wake up, man!”

A cough. Peter sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

Steve’s tired eyes met his from the ground.

He tapped the shield. “You lose this again and I’m keeping it.”

“What happened?” he groaned as Peter helped him to his feet.

Dread pooled inside Peter’s stomach. “We messed with time. It tends to mess back. Come on.”

Peter turned just for a moment. “Tony, call Mom.”

“_Calling Pepper Potts_.”

She answered on the first ring. “You callin’ me in, sweet boy?”

He huffed a laugh, voice cracking. “I’m callin’ you in, Mom. It looks pretty bad. I don’t know if-,”

“Peter Stark, if you were about to tell me not to come, we’re going to have words when we get home.”

_When_ we get home.

Not if.

“I’m suiting up right now, Peter,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “I’ll be there soon. Stay safe.”

“I love you three thousand, Mom.” It was a promise and a goodbye all in one.

She only acknowledged the promise. “I love you three thousand.”

The call ended. Silence filled the void.

“Peter,” Steve’s voice was thick as they began to navigate the collapsed Compound. Peter was in the middle of distracting himself by calculating how much money it would take to rebuild it when his name was spoken.

“Yeah?”

“If it gets bad…”

_Really bad_ wasn’t said. Peter heard it though.

“Stick with me, okay? I’ll protect you.”

Peter couldn’t help the dry smile that slides across his lips. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Rogers, but I was a hero before I got the cool suit.”

Steve’s gaze was piercing. There wasn’t room for humor. “So was I.”

The eighteen-year-old swallowed. “I’m not a little kid anymore, Steve. I know what’s out there. I fought Thanos, remember?”

Now the grin he knew so well surfaced. “I thought he wiped your ass with a planet?”

“Semantics.”

The lighthearted atmosphere was quickly doused by the sound of crumbling rubble. Steve gripped his arms tightly. “Kid-,”

Peter pulled the man into a hug. He had already lost precious time with Tony. He wouldn’t do the same with Steve. “I know, Steve. I know.”

They got out of the cavern of collapsed debris to join Thor. There, sitting like he didn’t have a care in the world, was the ugly grape himself.

“Thanos,” Peter breathed.

Steve placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Sure, certain, unshakable.

“What’s he been up to?” Peter asked, trying to keep the shaking in his voice to a minimum. Was it okay to be scared? He was a big boy now. He had to save the world.

Was he still a hero if he was terrified?

“Absolutely nothing.”

“Where are the stones?” Steve’s voice was low, dangerous.

“Somewhere under all this,” Peter answered. “All I know is he doesn’t have them.”

“So we keep it that way,” Steve muttered.

This was the voice of Captain America. The soldier, the legend, the hero. Peter would follow him to the end.

Even to death.

“You know it’s a trap, right?”

“Yeah…” Peter hummed, eyes never straying from the Mad Titan. “Not sure I give a fuck.”

“Good.” Thor declared. “As long as we’re all in agreement.”

Thunder rumbled across the sky, Mjolnir flew into his hand, power surged through the ground.

“Let’s kill him properly this time.”

Thanos didn’t throw a planet at Peter, but he was still kicking his ass. Everything was painful and he groaned, pushing himself to his knees.

“_Peter, kid, you have three broken ribs and a concussion. The bruising around your neck and waist is bad, kid. You need to_-,”

“Sorry, Tony, but your usual worry wortiness isn’t going to be listened to this time.” Peter coughed, ignoring the blood that mixed with the saliva. “Shit.”

“_Peter, if you’re not careful_-,”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll die. What’s new. Now give me the route to Thanos.”

Silently, the AI did as he was told. Peter followed the highlighted path. His heart sunk. Thanos towered over Steve as he lay crumbled to the ground. Suddenly, blue rays of light erupted from the sky. Thousands of aliens appeared out of thin air it seemed, millions of enemies. They were outnumbered. They couldn’t win.

Cap was struggling to his feet. His shield, _the_ shield, was broken. He tightened the protective weapon around his wrist. Limping, but standing straight, he advanced.

And then he froze.

He lifted a hand to his ear slowly.

A golden circle, magic that Peter remembered well, opened on the Captain’s left. Out stepped the Black Panther. Falcon flew out next. Then another portal, and another, and another. Hundreds of them. Doctor Strange and the Guardians and then finally –

“_Dad_,” Peter breathed.

Wakanda soldiers, Bucky Barnes, Scarlet Witch. Wizard and wizards and _more_ _wizards_. Scott emerged from the crumbled Compound, ginormous and terrifying. Hulk, War Machine with Rocket perched on his shoulder.

Hope was kindled.

Something crackled in Peter’s ear. A familiar noise.

“Eyes up, pumpkin.”

The Rescue suit landed right in front of Peter. The faceplate lifted, and he stared straight into the beautiful eyes of Pepper Potts. Dread vanished, replaced by the overwhelming courage that his family – Mister Stark, Tony, Dad, Dad, _Dad, **DAD**_ – encouraged within him. He stood shakily, rolling his shoulders back. With a nod and a wink, his mask folded back over his face, Pepper following suit, and he ran forward.

No way was he letting Cap run headfirst into danger.

At least not alone.

Skidding to a stop at Steve’s side, he cracked a grin at the old man. “You wanna say it?”

Cap smirked. “Start me off, Queens.”

Peter straightened and met Thanos’s eyes across the battlefield.

He was terrified.

Good.

The eighteen-year-old thought of all the people standing behind him. He thought of all the people they’d lost. He thought about Allan and Gwen Stacy, who’d lost a wife and mother. He thought of Steve, Rhodey, Natasha, Thor, Rocket, who’d all lost friends. He thought of Pepper, who’d lost the love of her life.

He thought of himself.

Somewhere behind him was the reason any of this happened in the first place.

He planted his feet beside Steve Rogers.

Peter took a deep breath. “AVENGERS!”

Mjolnir flew into Steve’s hand. The Captain’s lips twitched.

“Assemble.”

Whatever it takes.

They charged.

In the end, Peter was the one to save Tony.

They locked gazes, and through the masks, Peter heard him whisper, “Kid?”

No AI, no fake Tony Stark leaving messages or Peter’s nightmare. This was real.

He was real.

They both lifted their masks at the same time.

“Hey, Dad.”

Tony surged forward, barreling into Peter and holding him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. And maybe, in that moment, he was. Peter returned the vicelike grip with fervor, burying his nose into the crook of Tony’s neck and letting out a dry sob.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Friday won’t give me any schematics of your suit. Oh, this is the new one. You’ve made some improvements. That’s good. Your nose is bleeding. Are you bleeding internally? What the hell are you still doing here? The big guns arrived, kid, go take a breather and-,”

Peter laughed hysterically. “Fuck, I missed you.”

Tony’s eyes, identical to his son’s, softened. “Pete…”

“I love you too, you know.” He rasped.

The billionaire planted a kiss to his temple. “I know I can’t stop you from fighting. But there is so much I missed; I know that. Strange said it had been two years. Kid, you’re eighteen and I -,”

“I get it,” When had Tony become the rambler? “Stay safe, you need to be able to ground me for all the dangerous stuff I did while you were gone.”

Tony snorted but kissed his forehead again all the same. “Stay away from Thanos. Promise?”

“Promise.”

Peter was about to _b r e a k_ that fucking promise.

Thanos had the fucking gauntlet. No fucking way was he sticking on the sidelines.

Tony was probably shivering with how much cursing Peter was doing during this battle.

Peter met Doc’s eyes from where he was holding back the ocean.

He held up a single finger.

Peter didn’t nod, but he understood. There was no hesitation. He sprinted towards Thanos. Pepper yelled through his comm, he heard Tony yell across the field merely by volume. Steve shouted his name, Natasha too.

He was terrified. But that didn’t change what he had to do.

He smashed a button on his web-shooters. The nanotech quickly reformed into a mock gauntlet. He grabbed Thanos’s arm, using all the strength he had left to wrench the stones out of their places.

Thanos grabbed him by the leg and threw him onto the ground. He rolled to a stop, groaning in pain.

Thanos grinned, ugly and sadistic. “I am inevitable.”

_ Snap_.

Shocked, the titan turned the golden glove around. The stones were gone.

He wanted to laugh with triumph, but the sheer force of will it was taking not to die was dampening his humor factor.

Peter coughed, and he knew that every eye had turned towards him. He lifted his hand. The stones fell into place, already grasping his life and using it to power the gauntlet on his suit. He would die – he knew that. The years he didn’t have to lose were being traded for this. Saving the world.

It was a good way to go out.

As each stone connected with the metal, he gasped, forcing the tears in his eyes to remain in place. He wouldn’t cry in front of this monster. He hadn’t earned that. Thanos had taken everything from him.

It was time to return the favor.

“Peter?”

He raised his eyes at the sound of Pepper’s terrified voice. Across the battlefield, she stared at him, face-plate up and eyes wide. Tears glistened there, and part of him wished he was by her side, wished someone else was holding this gauntlet. He hated when Pepper cried.

But it was supposed to be this way. It _had_ to be this way.

Peter tore his gaze away from his surrogate mom’s. He didn’t get far. Several feet away, already running across the broken ground, was Tony Stark.

He was shouting, but their comms weren’t connected, so Peter couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Peter’s smile was sad. He was running for nothing. He wouldn’t make it in time to stop him.

He wanted to say it was okay, that it would all be okay, but he knew more than anyone that that kind of meaningless nonsense helped no one. It staved off no panic attack, stopped no tears. Loss was not mended because of an idiot’s hope.

Well, maybe just this once.

“I love you.” He whispered. Tony saw his lips move, or maybe he could hear Peter by some divine providence. He screamed, high pitched and horrified, as Peter lifted his hand higher and swallowed.

“Hi inevitable,” Peter croaked.

The world stopped. Thanos froze.

“I’m Peter.”

_Snap_.

**Author's Note:**

> So...
> 
> Whatcha think?


End file.
